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I would fall asleep only to rebuild and embellish in my dreams the magnificent air castles of my waking hours.

CHAPTER XX

The morning after our visit I was in DeVare’s room, waiting for him to come in from lecture, when some one knocked, and, in answer to my invitation, Ellerton, a Sophomore, who had been kind to me at first, entered, and asked for DeVare. Finding that I expected him in soon, he took a seat, and commenced some trivial talk about college matters. He had had nothing to do with me since I joined DeVare’s club, and a salutation when we passed had been the extent of our intercourse since early in the session.

He spoke with regret of the last night’s affair, and said DeVare ought not to have been so quick to resent the fellows’ fun. This, of course, nettled me, and I was about to make an angry reply, when DeVare himself came in. He bowed to Ellerton, who rose and handed him a note. DeVare’s brow contracted as he read it, and as soon as he finished he tossed it to me, and sitting down to his writing table, commenced his reply. The note he had received was from Brazon, demanding a retraction of the language used last evening, and an apology in the presence of both ladies, or the usual satisfaction. Ere I had finished reading DeVare folded and addressed his answer, and Ellerton, receiving it, bowed himself out.

DeVare looked at me and smiled as I asked him what he intended to do.

“My self-respect forbids that I should entertain a thought of yielding to the first demand; custom and public opinion compel me to grant the second. I wrote, therefore, that I had no remark to regret, and no retraction to make; and that I would accord him any satisfaction he might desire I took the liberty of referring him to you, as my friend.”

“You were perfectly right in that; but, DeVare, I must take your place, and be the principal in this affair, as it was all undertaken on my account.”

“That could not be, Jack, even if I were willing, which I certainly am not. Do not trouble yourself about it, for I do not feel one particle of concern or uneasiness in reference to it. You had best now go to Ellerton’s room, and confer with him in regard to the arrangements. One thing I will mention: if there has to be a meeting get it put off till the end of the session, as the laws of the University require instant expulsion for any one in anywise connected with a duel.”

I had scarcely risen from my seat when Ellerton again tapped at the door, to request me to walk with him over to his room.

I rose and followed him, feeling, I must confess, somewhat important as second in a duel which would create quite a stir, and yet feeling sadly conscious that it was a strange manifestation of friendship to be arranging preliminaries for my friend’s possible and probable death.

When we reached Ellerton’s room he motioned me to take a seat, and said:

“Brazon has read DeVare’s note, and as he refuses to apologize, I wish to know when he will meet him, and with what weapons?”

“O! Ellerton!” I said, thoroughly unmanned, “cannot this wretched affair be settled without recourse to arms? I was the unintentional cause of it all, and, as DeVare will not hear of my taking his place on the field, I will submit to any humiliation to save him.”

“I don’t think your humiliation would do much good,” he remarked, coolly, sticking his knife through a match lying on the table, and splitting the phosphorus into a blaze. “DeVare is the man who insulted him, and Brazon will alone be satisfied with his blood.”

“I’ll have his if he gets it,” I said, savagely, recalled to myself by his words.

“Well, well, do not threaten,” he said, throwing the match on the floor and rubbing it out with his boot; “let’s proceed to business.”

He got paper and pens, and we agreed on the following arrangements:

Time of meeting, the 3d of December; place, just in the South Carolina line; weapons, Derringer pistols; distance, ten paces.

“Is that all, now,” I said, rising to leave.

“I believe so,” he said, running his finger down the paper. “It’s pretty far off now, and we’ll have to keep our principals up to the point. I’m afraid they’ll cool off and make friends yet.”

“You need have no fears in regard to mine,” I said, haughtily, “he’ll make no overtures, and will certainly be ready when the time comes.”

I reported all to DeVare, who expressed himself satisfied with the arrangements, and apparently dismissed the subject from his mind for any allusion he made to it during the days and weeks following.

The same evening I walked out, and received a very gracious bow from Miss Carrover, which set my heart in a flutter, though I was considerably troubled at seeing Ellerton in the porch with her.

That night I wrote to father, with many excuses and reasons for the request, to send me my horse and Reuben; and feeling perfectly assured they would come, made up my mind what to do when they did.

After a day or two I called again on Miss Carrover, and was fortunate this time in finding her alone. I enjoyed a very delightful tete-a-tete with her, and, among other things, told her that I had sent for my horse, and that when he came I would claim the ride she had so cruelly refused me the evening I had first called. She readily assented, and expressed the wish to ride him herself. Then she consented to sing for me; and, having been assured that her favorite would be mine, selected Meyerbeer’s “Robert le Diable.” Though her voice was very fine, yet it had been trained in such affectation of the opera that the song lost all of its melody and pathos in her rendition. She got up so high in her screams for grace that it was only possible to descend by a ladder, which, like Brother Weekly, she constructed of “er,” and came hopping down with such an impenitent gra-er-a-er-a-er-ce pour moi that no one could have blamed Robert for his inexorable “Non, non, non.” At the conclusion of the piece I was, of course, profuse in my thanks and praise; but, fearing another such infliction, I begged for some instrumental music, and was tested, as to patience, by ten or twelve pages of banging and scaling.

Yet my visit was very delightful, and I departed more enraptured than ever, if such a thing was possible.

When I recounted my visit to Ned, he only laughed, and advised me seriously to attend more closely to my books.

“You know how much your father expects of you,” he said; “and you may be sure this Miss Carrover does not care a fig for you.”

“I know she does,” I responded, warmly. “Even on this, my second visit, she has shown me plainly that she likes me well. I’ll bet we are engaged before three months. Won’t that be glorious, Ned? Surely, man, you have no eyes, or you would be enslaved yourself by her beauty.”

“My vision is very good,” said Ned, “but I don’t see any thing enslaving about her. She is pretty, without doubt, and is probably entertaining; but there are others equally as good looking, and more capable of rendering you happy. Besides, do you suppose that a lady who has been the object of a great city’s adulation can be pleased with any one in this little village of students – half of whom she regards as mere boys?”

“Umph, we are as good as any Adonis of Broadway. And then, Ned, a lady who felt at all bored by our presence would evince it in some way. A look, a careless word or a sneer would betray her feelings. No, Ned, you are surprised at my success, and only predict evil because you hate to confess the contrary is true.”

“Well,” said Ned, turning over the leaves of his lexicon in search of a flea of a word, “go on; but you will find she is only amusing herself with you during her rustication.”

“But, Ned, I know she likes me; and won’t it be splendid to call the beauty of Gotham mine?”

“Go your way, old fellow,” said Ned, catching the flea and pinning it with his pencil on the margin of his text-book; “but, mark my words, in three months from to-day your adored will have discarded you, and you will then be regretting the moments you have wasted on her.”

“That reminds me,” I said, taking down my book, “I must cram Greek for to-morrow.”

After an hour’s study we retired – Ned well prepared, I just half.

CHAPTER XXI

Several days have passed, and I am still in dreamland with Miss Carrover. I manage to attend recitations, but that is all. The tutor’s instructions fall on an inattentive ear, and his questions receive random answers. My books are all neglected, and even when I try to study, my mind is so preoccupied that it proves a perfect Danæan sieve, and after an hour’s vacant rambling over a page I close the book, with a more confused idea of its contents than I had before I opened it.

I visit Miss Carrover every other evening, at least, and in the interim am thinking of a word she spoke, a smile she gave; or am forming rainbow conjectures as to how she will treat me when I next call.

A week after the events narrated in the last chapter, I received a letter from my father, saying that he had read my letter with some surprise, but that, while he feared my horse would prove an hindrance to study, he did not like to refuse my first request, and had accordingly started Reuben off with him the morning before; that he hoped I would not let it deter me from applying myself diligently to my books, but that my report at the close of the session might be, as it always had been in my other schools, perfect.

I examined the date of the letter and found that it had been delayed a day, so that Reuben and Phlegon, starting the day before, ought to reach the University that day. I made a minute calculation, and found that they would arrive by one o’clock, and so, with a sigh of repentance over my dereliction of duty, and a firm resolve to do better, I determined, as that was Friday, to snap lecture, and watch for Reuben, waiting for Monday to turn over my new leaf.

Accordingly, when the bell for lecture rung, instead of going with Ned to the section room, I strolled through the campus and gave myself up to sweet thoughts of Lillian. It was one of my autumn days. The sun was shining with a still, mellow light through a golden haze, which seemed to have fallen on all Nature, so yellow were the leaves on the trees and the stubble in the fields. The air was still and dreamy, and the campus, usually so full of noise and life, empty and deserted. I tried to think of Lillian as the only one in the world besides myself; of the universe as being made for us two, and of how sweetly we would live for each other. But somehow my soul would not fall into the delicious reverie her name usually inspired. For the first time since I had met her I could not think constantly of her, but my mind was ever and anon recurring to father’s letter and his admonitions. There was an aching at my heart, a restless unhappiness I could not understand. I wandered about for half an hour, then sought out the negro who rang the bell, obtained the belfry keys from him, and went up in the cupola of the South Building. Taking my seat on the window ledge, I gazed on the beautiful scene around. A large extent of country spread out before me, gently undulating, and specked here and there with lonely white houses or groups of negro quarters. The haze of the zenith softened down to a deep shaded violet as it met the horizon, and long lines of smoke stood stiffly around the verge, like gray sentinels guarding the Great Beyond. A little way off a herd of cows were grazing, and the hoarse monotones of their copper bells were just audible enough to be drowsy; while along the red line of the road that wound out of sight by the cemetery, a white top wagon, with sluggish horses, was slowly crawling on to Raleigh.

My mind now easily fell into reverie, but Miss Carrover was not its burden. Conscience, that had so long been tapping at the door of a heart too full of love to let it in, now gained a hearing, and told of wrong after wrong, of duties neglected, of promises of diligence forgotten, of honors so easily in reach unstriven for, of a doting father (of whose kind indulgence I was about to receive such a striking proof) so culpably deceived, of golden opportunities wasted which might never be retrieved – all for a love which was, perhaps, in vain – till remorse applied its tortures to my soul and I was miserable. Then came the struggle. Could I give Lillian up? Could I drive out all those sweet thoughts of her that had been such pleasant companions for me while away from her? Could I bear to think of her sighing for me, while I cruelly kept away? Above all, could I bear to think of her smiling on others and forgetting me, only because I had forgotten her? No, I could not do that, but I would go to see her less frequently; I would study harder; and redeem the lost time; I would gain the first honors; and yet love Lillian. Like Alan of Buchan, I would win both banners, and father would smile on my honors and approve my choice.

Patting down my conscience with these good resolutions, I chanced to look out on the scene again, and saw, coming down the road from Raleigh, a horse and rider. The horse was blanketed, but I knew by the lordly bearing and arching neck that it was Phlegon, and I clambered down from the belfry, and ran down to the hotel to meet him. The bell rang for the close of lectures at the same time, and the students were thronging from the various lecture rooms, and many shouted at me as I hurried through the campus. I reached the hotel just as Reuben rode up. I had hardly gotten through making inquiries about them all at home when the students, in large numbers, came down to the hotel, and commenced making comments on myself and my horse. Some of my friends, however, coming to me and desiring to see him, I made Reuben take off his blankets and move him up and down the street, to show his action. As Reuben stripped the cloth from his glossy hide, and the splendid form stood revealed in its matchless grace, a murmur of approbation ran through the crowd. And Phlegon was in every respect worthy. An English thoroughbred, he possessed the marks of an aristocratic ancestry, lords of the turf for many generations. The sharp pointed ears, the mild dark eye, and the tapering mouse colored muzzle, with its red open nostrils, were a coat of arms as perfect as argent fields and unicorns rampant.

His color was a beautiful claret, and his coat as glossy as if just washed in the ruby wine. His limbs tapered delicately, but the muscles were round and full of strength. He had evidently been the pet at home since I had left, and it was with no little pride that I ordered Reuben to take him round to the stables I had engaged for him. I went back to my room, feeling a good deal flattered by hearing some one say, as Reuben rode off:

“That’s a crack Fresh, to keep a horse the first session.”

That evening, of course, I rode out, and, riding out, of course passed the house where Miss Carrover was staying. She was on the porch with DeVare as I swept by. I bowed and said, “To-morrow evening!” and she kissed her hand at me and said, “Without fail!” I was happy again, and my good resolutions about such very hard study began to melt.

The next evening found me in the parlor, while Reuben stood at the gate holding Phlegon and the horse from the livery stable Miss Carrover usually rode.

As she swept into the room, holding up the long folds of her riding habit with one gauntleted hand, while the other threatened me with her pearl and gold riding whip, I thought I had never seen anything half so lovely, and I playfully bent on one knee as she said:

“You wicked boy, why did you come so late. I have been waiting ever so long for you?”

I apologised with all meekness, threw the blame on Reuben, and escorted her out to the block. As soon as she saw my horse she burst into an ecstacy of admiration, and vowed that I must have the saddles changed; that she could not allow her escort to ride a prettier horse than she was on. As I believed him perfectly safe, I ordered Reuben to change the saddles, then assisted her to mount, took her gaitered little foot in my hand to adjust it in the stirrup, and then, springing into my saddle, we galloped away into the evening sunlight. Phlegon seemed aware of the lovely burden he was bearing, and curvetted and pranced with a pride that would have made Lucifer seem humble. She was very much exhilarated, and lost her dreamy air for one of sprightly vivacity. She flattered me by innuendo, and said sweet things at me through my horse, till I was perfectly blind in my belief in her love for me. She gave me a rosebud from her hair, which I solemnly assured her should be treasured till the heart, over which I pinned it in my lapel, should be cold and pulseless. She spoke of our engagement to visit the library and fixed the hour in the afternoon earlier than she had at first appointed, saying, as she did so, “We will have more time to be together, you know.”

“Thanks for your consideration of my happiness, Miss Carrover,” I said, bowing, while my heart fluttered with pleasant surprise to hear her speak so. “Time always seems to be running a race when I am with you. The moments fly by only too swiftly when we are with those we – er – ” A good spur and a rearing horse are first rate reliefs for embarrassment when we hesitate for a word; at least I found them so that afternoon.

She did not make any remark in some time, and I continued:

“You must be very unselfish, Miss Carrover, to confer so much pleasure on those who visit you, and receive so little in return.”

“Oh no, indeed,” she replied, tapping Phlegon on the ear with her whip, “it is a very great pleasure to me to meet and converse with friends, such as I believe you are, Mr. Smith.”

“Indeed I am not your friend, Miss Carrover,” I said, grasping my reins very tight, and gaining courage from the grasp; “a nearer, fonder word than friendship must express my feelings for you.”

“No, really?” she said, with that matchless arch of her eyebrows, looking me full in the face.

When a kettle is about to boil over, add a few drops of cold water, and it subsides without another bubble. These two words were like ice to my heart’s fervor, and we rode a long way in silence, I combing out my horse’s mane with my fingers, she humming the fragments of a song, and flecking off specks of dust from her skirt with her whip.

When she spoke she changed the subject, and I had scarcely courage to speak of the beauties of Nature for the remainder of the ride.

When we returned I gave up the horses to Reuben at the gate, and, bidding Miss Carrover good evening, walked towards my room meditating.

She doubtless loves me, thought I, but of course she is not going to reveal it till I convince her of my sincerity. She has probably been annoyed with empty protestations of love from so many that she believes all men faithless, and my sudden and inappropriate declaration this afternoon was certainly not calculated to inspire any belief in its truth. She is a lady of too much tact and experience to discover the real state of her feelings till I have proved myself in earnest, and that I mean to do before another sun shall set. My horse, which she knows I prize so highly, will at least prove that I am not trifling.

I spent that night till bed time writing notes presenting her with Phlegon, and then tearing them up, till I almost despaired of getting one to suit me. Towards twelve o’clock, however, I completed one on the fanciest paper procurable, and, delicately perfuming it, laid it by till Monday morning, as the next day was the Sabbath.

Monday morning was the time I had appointed for my new leaf, but the excitement of sending my horse to Miss Carrover made me determine to put off the reform I had contemplated to next day.

After breakfast I told Reuben to take Phlegon, and go up to Mr. Pommel’s store and get the saddle I bought there Saturday.

“What chu want wi’ another saddul, Marse John? Dat one ole marse gin you rides better’n any saddul I ever sot on.”

“Go and do as I told you, and don’t ask so many questions. It is a side saddle I’ve bought, and I am going to give Phlegon away.”

“Gwine to give ‘way Phregon! What you ‘spect to do wid me, Marse John?”

“You are to attend to him still, and saddle him whenever the lady wants to use him.”

“Um-umph, dat’s gone by me!” he muttered, as he walked off to obey my orders.

After he had gone with my note the anxious suspense of waiting for the answer was immense. I went up in my room and tried to study, but it was in vain. At the end of half an hour I heard the clatter of hoofs under the windows, and found Reuben returned on my horse. His teeth were gleaming to the first molars as he gave me Miss Carrover’s note. I tore it open hastily, and read:

“Mr. Smith:

“Your unselfish generosity in offering such a superb contribution to my pleasure forbids that I should return your gift as formally as etiquette requires. A moment’s reflection, however, will convince you that I could not accept your beautiful horse; yet I assure you the motives prompting the offer are fully appreciated, and will be gratefully remembered. The sentiments of regard you so kindly express are more than reciprocated, and it will be my greatest pleasure to continue a friendship which has been so delightful to me, and, I trust, not unpleasant to you.

“Hoping that this conventional necessity may not wound your feelings,

I remain,

“The Same Lillian.”

I folded the note with an air of pride and a consciousness of my powers of conquest I had never felt before. Now I have the written proof of her esteem. I wonder if Ned will doubt my success.

“What were you laughing at, Reuben, when you gave me this note?” I said, turning to where he stood, still grinning.

“He-e-e! he!” he snickered, rubbing his nose against the saddle, “dem young ladies tinks you’s a gone case, Marse John.”

“What did they do when you got there?”

“Dey was at de window when I gallupped up, an’ dey both come out to de porch, an’ de little one laugh like anything when de purty one told what you sed in de note, and she pinched her on de arm, and say, ‘he’s gwine to gib you heself nex’,’ and den dey both laugh. De purty one say den, ‘I wish he would; I’d keep him.’ An’ while she gone to write de note de little one asts me sight er questions ‘bout you, an’ I tell her ‘dun no ‘m’ to everything, ‘cause I d’ want her to marry you, Marse John. Den de tother one come back, an’ gin me dat little cranksided invellop, an’ tole me to fetch it to you. Des as I git in de saddle, I hear one of ’em say, ‘Boot’ful, ain’t it; and so thortless of my prezure in him.’ But I never stay der, I tell you, Marse John. I lef’, glad ‘nough to fetch Phregon back ‘gin.”

“Well, take him back to the stable, and rub him off,” I said, turning to go upstairs.

The case now stands thus, I said to myself, as I walked thoughtfully up the steps: She evidently loves me. She knows now that I love her; all that is needed is a mutual confession. When shall it take place? The very first opportunity.